Nov 29, 2020 | 0 comments

Well, hello there! It has been a while, hasn’t it……

Some of you may have noticed that I haven’t written for quite some time. My passions throughout my life have come and gone. As a child and into my twenties, I painted. And, then for the longest time there was a drought. No painting. No creativity and no outward expression – as such. And, then more than two years ago, I began writing. I never thought I would write. It is something that came naturally. It came naturally because it came from my heart.

And, then, that passion also disappeared. This time however, my identity wasn’t so attached to what I had been doing. You could say that the rug had been ripped out from under my feet – again. When we are attached to something, such an experience can sound like this: “I’m not a writer anymore. So, who am I?” It can produce a feeling of anxiety; the proposition of a lost identity. My response, however, this time was more of an “Oh… this again.” This break-up wasn’t so scary – if at all. These rug-pulling experiences seem to be quickening for me, especially since my work began two years ago. I am getting a little closer to understanding and experiencing the dissolution of Maya/illusion. Not only is writing not who I am, but it is also about the loosening up of attachment towards something.

While experiencing “writer’s block”, I also stopped my meditation practice. This November, I would have been practicing devotedly, steadily and daily, for two years. Oh, how my ego was attached to that idea and so proud of it! I stopped my practice this past September. Funnily enough, a few months before I stopped practicing, I wondered how long my practice would indeed last. In my ponderings, I realized that I had been under some illusion that it would last the rest of my life. Why would it have? Everything else is temporary – including this episode. This too would come to an end. Even though I was in some denial, I also knew that once my mind had presented this thought, this was the beginning of the withdrawal.

My mind says that I stopped my practice for perhaps several reasons. I could have stopped because of some chronic physical discomfort that I had been experiencing. I seemed to have developed some food sensitivities over the last few months. Another idea is that, as a family, we were going through a life transition – my daughter had started academics. The other proposition is that I was just plain exhausted. It was time to rest. Maybe I had reached another place. Whatever it was, I stopped.

And I also stopped writing. I loved sharing my messages, my insights with people. I have always loved helping people and sharing who I am with others. I wrote a lot before I became qualified as a Life Coach. It was something I gave because I wanted to. But, this world of marketing can be stifling to the soul. In order to be “successful”, I was being asked to produce on demand. This idea is not something that I abided to. I have always produced when the inspiration flows through me rather than through dictation. Yet, this idea was still presented to my mind strongly enough to stifle my passion and my soul for a while. I do what I do not to make a profit off others. I do what I do as it is my calling and my soul is fed through what I do. In addition to this and most surprisingly, I was actually getting tired of hearing myself talk. I really was. On a few occasions, I had blasts of inspiration come through me and I almost shared. But when it came to it, I really couldn’t be bothered. I knew – So what? Why bother sharing? I therefore retreated.

Back in the honeymoon-writing phase, if I had a blast of inspiration, I would have to sit down there and then and write. I felt that my soul wanted to be expressed at that exact moment and I honored that. But something cool has happened – as I write now. I still get epiphanies and realizations, but I do not have to grasp and express them right there and then. I have let go of another attachment, another illusion. I also know that this idea of me as a “writer” is a fabrication of my identity. None of this really matters, and paradoxically it also does. It doesn’t, because all of this is invented. It’s only an idea. And it also does matter because this is the current expression of my human incarnation. It is how I honour my presence here on Earth; how I honour the life that I have been given. But now, I can play with it. I can let it be. If it is there, it is there. If it is not there, it is not there. There is more space. There’s no need for attachment.

This writing, this whatever-it-may-be for you, is no biggie – and yet it is. It’s just a fleeting expression of never-ending creation. It comes, it goes, it transforms. Let it be, ride it out, let it play. Give it space. Allow yourself to breathe – and live. So whatever oncoming creativity can move more easily through you.

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